


let down my guard (a second)

by LuckyGirl17



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Coming Untouched, M/M, Punishment, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 07:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6415234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyGirl17/pseuds/LuckyGirl17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Washington was livid. He had rarely seen the general in such a state, in fact, his swearing out of Charles Lee was perhaps the last time Hamilton had seen him lose his temper like this. He caught words like reckless and insubordinate, knew that Washington was close to being done with aide-de-camp who couldn’t control his own temper. But Hamilton could barely focus, his body betraying him as more blood rushed south at the hard, sharp edge to Washington’s voice.</p>
<p>Hamilton gets punished in the wake of the duel with Charles Lee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let down my guard (a second)

There are times where Alexander Hamilton was somewhat willing to admit that he may have, on some level, done something that was slightly akin to a mistake. Standing on the make-shift dueling grounds as Washington’s stony glare and deep voice commanded him to meet him inside, Hamilton was willing to admit that this was one of those times. The trudge back to Washington’s command tent was long and the general spared Hamilton not a single glance. Hamilton was already planning his defense -Charles Lee was an incompetent bastard, you never actually said that Laurens couldn’t do it, this was all for your honor anyway- sorting through his points and organizing them, well aware that this was yet another scenario that he’d have to use his words to get out of. He only hoped that Washington would be willing to listen.

They arrived at Washington’s tent and for a few moments remained in the same tense silence of their walk. Washington seemed to be considering and reconsidering again, would occasionally look as though he were about to speak before changing his mind and remaining quiet. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity to Hamilton but could truly have only been a few moments, Washington opens his mouth to begin.

“Son,” and shit, no. Hamilton knew he was in trouble but could not fully tamp down on the heat that always coursed through him at hearing that name in the rough gravel of Washington’s voice. It was wrong, so wrong. Washington had never meant it in a way that was not utterly familial, but it never stopped the arousal pooling low in Hamilton’s gut whenever his general called him son. Hamilton could feel the weight between his legs even as he desperately willed it away. It would not do now, of all times, to be distracted by his tangled feelings for Washington. 

Washington was livid. He had rarely seen the general in such a state, in fact, his swearing out of Charles Lee was perhaps the last time Hamilton had seen him lose his temper like this. He caught words like reckless and insubordinate, knew that Washington was close to being done with aide-de-camp who couldn’t control his own temper. But Hamilton could barely focus, his body betraying him as more blood rushed south at the hard, sharp edge to Washington’s voice.

Washington stalked a few steps forwards towards Hamilton, biting out “Are you listening to me, son?” He was now looming over Hamilton, his considerable height forcing him to look up in order to meet his eyes. As Washington’s eyes scanned him over, Hamilton could see the moment he registered his arousal. Cursing himself, Hamilton lowered his head and tried to turn away, shame causing a flush to appear on his cheeks. 

“Did I dismiss you?” falling out of Washington’s mouth froze him to the spot. Washington voice was still angry, but an almost cold amusement colored it now too. “As your commander, I decide when you get to leave, Alexander. Perhaps that’s merely another rule you don’t intend to follow today?” 

“No, sir, of course not, sir.” It was just a whisper, all the fight drained out of him from Washington’s proximity. He had walked forward, forcing Hamilton to retreat as far back as he could before hitting the wall. He was, quite effectively, pinned in place. Washington kept leaning forward as though he expected Hamilton to keep retreating, but there was nowhere he could go except- oh. Slowly, he sank to his knees before his general. A smirk flitted across Washington’s face before he stepped back to look at Hamilton in his subservient position.

“How often have you pictured this before? Being on your knees before your commander?” His arm snaked out to lodge in Hamilton’s tied-back hair, nearly pulling it out of its queue as he guided his head up, forcing him to meet his gaze. An undignified moan escaped him at that and he saw the heat building in Washington’s eyes despite his seemingly unruffled countenance, the confirmation that he wanted this too. “Answer me, son.”

Hamilton shut his eyes and began to speak, “So many times, sir. I –

“Open your eyes. Look at me when you speak.” Simple orders, delivered in a tone that was to be absolutely obeyed.

With effort and a blush rising on his cheeks once more, Hamilton opened his eyes and screwed up his courage to talk once more. “Sir, I’ve wanted this, wanted you, for so long now.” Washington raised an eyebrow, waiting for more. Hamilton swallowed around a lump in his throat and continued. “Sometimes as we work, sir, I’ll be thinking of how you would taste, how your hands would feel. When you give me orders, sir, and when you call me son-“ Hamilton’s breath hitched, his voice broke into a moan. 

“Stand up, Hamilton.” Washington nearly breathed out a laugh at how quickly he obeyed. “Strip, then go and bend over the desk.” Hamilton rushed to follow his orders, throwing his uniform on the floor carelessly in his haste to comply with his general’s commands. There were a few missives trapped underneath his chest where it lay pressed against the desk -he’d have to re-write those- and his ass stuck out in the air. He knows he must look desperate, already hard and gripping the edges of the desk like a life-line. Hamilton can feel Washington’s presence behind him, knows what’s coming and attempts to brace himself. 

“I’m going to hit you ten times. You’ll count each one and you’ll thank me for it.” Washington’s tone booked no arguments, even if Hamilton had a mind to disagree. 

Before Hamilton could respond, the first blow came down sharp on the juncture between thigh and ass. A rattling moan escaped him and he choked out “One, sir, thank you, sir.”

The second and third slaps come square on the left and right cheek respectively. Hamilton could tell Washington was not using his full strength, not even close, but the skin burned red and the muscle jumped under each blow. “Two and three, sir, thank you, sir.”

Four and five followed much the same pattern, though with considerably more force, tears evident in his voice as he counted them. His cock is leaking and Hamilton has begun to rut against the desk, seeking any friction at all. Washington allowed him two thrusts against the wood before lifting his hips back into the air. 

Six hits the seam of Hamilton’s inner thigh, Washington’s hand ghosting past his sack and the resulting scream is a mix of pain and heady frustration. He is so close. Hamilton whispers out, “Thank you, sir, that was six, sir” with tears now falling freely down his face. He doesn’t know whether he wants this to end.

Seven, eight, and nine came down hard and fast, nearly knocking Hamilton off-balance. They all fell directly on the muscle of his ass, and he’s not going to be able to sit right for days but he can’t stop moaning and shaking at the exquisiteness of it all. He’s barely holding himself upright, Washington’s hands on his hips doing most of that work and he knows that he’ll have imprints of his fingertips there tomorrow. The thought pushed Hamilton even closer to the edge as he re-arranges his slippery grip on the desk, trying his best to stay upright for his general.

Washington pushed Hamilton’s face into the cool wood beneath him and spread his legs wider, undoing the precarious balance Hamilton had only just managed to find. He rose to his toes to keeps from falling back, ass higher in the air, which must have been Washington’s intention. Hamilton felt exposed, desperate and sweating and waiting for the last strike. Heat roiled low in his gut and he’s so close and his moans slur into each other as he begs for Washington to hit him again. 

Blow number ten strikes right at his center, directly over his hole. He could feel it throughout his body, nearly toppling over with the force of it. Hamilton’s hips stuttered forward -no, oh no, he can’t be, this isn’t what was meant, Washington will be- and hot streaks burst from head of his cock, falling messily on the desk below. 

When Hamilton came back down, Washington had wiped him clean with a handkerchief, collecting his clothes in a stony silence. Hamilton accepted his uniform, pulling it on quickly. It wasn’t as put together as the general typically liked, but he was covered again. 

Washington was staring at him once more, an inscrutable expression on his face. “Go back to your tent, Alexander.”

“But, sir, I-,“ At Washington’s look of reproach, Hamilton fell silent once more.

“To your tent, Alexander. Perhaps tomorrow, you will have learned some restraint. Otherwise, it will fall to me to teach you.” 

Hamilton trudged back to his tent, hoping no one could see the flush on his face. He falls asleep that night and dreams of Washington above him, his hands tied behind his back.

**Author's Note:**

> Scream about this with me on tumblr @lafayettedigg


End file.
